“Good.” Sydney looked away. The words of a good man could bring tears to a woman’s eyes. She envied Claire for this, for Tyler. She’d known a lot of men after she left Bascom, none of them good. She didn’t even think she’d know what to do with a good man now. “Drink up,” she said, turning away and walking around the kitchen.

Tyler lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip. “This is good. Unusual, but good.”

“Welcome to Claire’s world.”

“So what are your good memories?” he asked.

She walked to his nook, past the easels, and looked out the windows. “It’s so strange. My good memories are of this week. Everything in all my years of living, and this week has been the best week of my life. You?”

“It’s good wine, but I’m not getting anything. I’m just thinking of Claire.”

She smiled and drank some more. “You’re hopeless.”

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER

8

Bascom’s Fourth of July celebration was held every year on the square downtown. On the green by the fountain, families and church groups set up tables and canopies and brought food so everyone could sample delicacies, like a big potluck, before the fireworks display. Waverleys always brought honeysuckle wine so people could see in the dark, but, whether or not the town knew it, the wine also brought about a few revelations every Fourth of July. A side effect of being able to see in the dark, after all, is being aware of things you weren’t aware of before.

The Waverleys had a table off to the side—a most popular table, to be sure, but set apart from everyone else. Sydney fidgeted in her seat. Bay was over in the supervised children’s area, making paper hats and getting her face painted, so it was just Sydney and Claire and the honeysuckle hooch. People would quietly come by for small paper cups of honeysuckle wine, like it was somehow hallowed, and every once in a while the sheriff would stroll by and ask, “Now, this is nonalcoholic, right?”

And Claire would answer, straight-faced, as every Waverley had, “Of course.”

When Sydney was a teenager, the Fourth of July always meant spending the day at a friend’s pool, then showing up on the green just in time for the fireworks. She felt older than other people her age now, people like her old high-school friends, most of whom had obviously come from backyard barbecues or pool parties and had tans and bathing-suit straps peeking out from under their shirts. Emma was at the Presbyterian church’s table, talking with Eliza Beaufort. Knowing what she knew now, Sydney didn’t envy that life of privilege anymore. Curious then, that she felt sad for losing something she never had. Maybe she just missed friendship in general, the camaraderie of people her own age.